


Absolution

by Kylenne



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: One month following the destruction of the Alpha Relay, Imani Shepard is still racked with guilt over what she wrought in batarian space, and broods alone under lockdown in Vancouver, praying for solace. What she didn't expect was for her prayers to be answered, much less who would answer them.





	Absolution

Night was always the worst time. The silence it brought lent a stillness to her soul in which it was all too easy for her mind to play out that scenario over and over and over again: first, Kenson's hand on the detonator. Then, a broken comm signal. A single button, an indifferent countdown clock to oblivion. Static. Light, brilliant and terrible, filling the starlit void with silence…and after, in its wake, an empty Galaxy Map.

Three hundred thousand souls, snuffed out in an instant.

Imani didn't know if batarians had gods; she didn't know to whom they prayed or if they even prayed at all. So she beseeched her own, on their behalf, and desperately hoped those remorseful pleas would be heard.

"May you never hunger, may you never thirst," Imani prayed, swaying unconsciously on her knees as the Arabic words tumbled forth from trembling lips.

Bitter tears streamed down her cheeks as she prayed. It didn't matter that she was Commander Shepard, and that she did what she had to do—as she told Garrus, and Thane, and Admiral Hackett and Councillor Anderson and every single person who wanted to know why and how such a thing could have happened.

Why and how Imani--who valued life so much--could have done such a thing.

It didn't matter that her actions on that asteroid prevented even more horrors being visited upon the rest of the galaxy.

It didn't matter that the sacrifice of the few purchased time for the many to prepare, to make ready, to brace themselves for the horrors yet to come.

None of that mattered under the weight of three hundred thousand souls.

“May you find peace with your gods. May you find peace with your ancestors in green fields. May your souls know rest."

These were the words of Imani Shepard, raised to love and serve the Neteru of ancient Egypt, the gods of her ancestral faith. The words of a mortal woman, a very human woman, who was raised to live in the Kemetic principle of ma'at, of cosmic justice, above all other things. They were the words of a devout woman suffocating under the weight of an atrocity she had no other choice but to commit. Hundreds upon thousands of lives were snuffed out in an instant by her own hand, her own will, and all she could do was weep for each one and pray that they knew no suffering, no pain. That they had gone to the afterlife that she herself touched so briefly, whatever it meant to their people and their culture.That they knew the mercy she could not show them.

Every soul mattered. Every one. That was what ma'at meant, to Imani's eyes: that for every action there is a reaction. It meant that, in the great web of the galaxy, everyone and everything was intertwined, reliant upon one other in a delicate balance. That what befell one impacted many others.

Ma'at was justice, and to serve it meant preserving that balance for the harmony of all—and Imani still did not know, all these weeks later, whether it was served in that system by Kenson's madness, by the Project. Regardless of what she said to people, and how she justified it to them, she did not know. Did three hundred thousand people truly have to die to stop the Reapers from killing even more? Did it matter that they were batarians? Did that somehow make the decision to end their lives even a little easier, deep down in some malignant and long buried part of her imperfect human soul, knowing the pain they had caused this child of Mindoir so long ago? Were her protests to the contrary just a convenient lie she told herself? Would the famously tenacious, clever, and principled Commander Imani Shepard had done more to save those people had they been drell, or turian? If they had worn the face of one of her lovers, and not one of the species who’d murdered her family and irrevocably altered the course of her young life before it had even truly begun?

It frightened her, not knowing these things, and that the unshakeable belief she'd always held in her convictions was tested to the breaking point. And it caused a crisis of faith in her that she hadn’t felt _since_  she was that child of Mindoir, a broken and bitter literal child on Arcturus Station, mute from shock and trauma—trauma caused by batarians who felt the death and enslavement of humans served a greater purpose. What made her any different from Balak, in the end? This was what haunted her, in the dark of night. This was why she prayed; why she prayed for them, and for herself. 

"Please forgive me, children of Aratoht," Imani whispered, her brow pressed against the cold laminate floor of her cell, prostrating before the window. "Forgive me, Lady Ma’at, for what I have wrought. Please let it not have been in vain." 

Imani's heart was heavier than anyone could have possibly understood.Some part of her believed that maybe she deserved to be in that cell, as comfortable as it was. Maybe she deserved to rot for causing a dozen upon dozen Mindoirs. That served ma’at, didn't it?

She didn't hear the man walk in then as she quietly sobbed on the floor, her heartfelt prayers fallen apart to incoherent muttering. She didn't know that he was watching her fall apart in a way she'd never allowed anyone to see, that she couldn't afford to let anyone see, not even the men she loved. No one ever saw her like this, because she was Commander Shepard and she couldn't afford it. The galaxy couldn’t afford it.

She wasn't sure how long he was there, how long he'd seen the rawness of her pain and the weight of the burden she'd carried. It was one he'd asked her to carry, for the good of the galaxy. And maybe that was why he didn't say anything, why at last she simply felt a hand pressed on her back after the worst of it passed, why she knew it was him and not Anderson. 

Anderson would have said something.

Instead, there was silence punctuated only by the sound of her weeping. There was that hand on her back, strong and steady, its warmth seeping into the thick cotton of her tank top. She was surprised at how good it felt--at how comforting simple physical contact was, after going weeks without any at all. That one touch was enough to calm her, allow her to breathe. 

Then she realized whose hand it was, and felt heat pour into her face. 

"Sir--" Imani stammered hoarsely. Quickly, she pushed off the floor, back onto her knees, and swatted at her eyes with the back of her shaking hands, doing her best to wipe the tears away and look some semblance of dignified. 

Hackett offered her a hand up, and Imani took it, swallowing down her embarrassment; it was the same hand he'd rested on her back, and it was still warm. He shook his head as he helped her to her feet, frowning. "Shepard..." he said, in a soft spoken tone filled with quiet concern. 

"Sir." It was all she could manage, a bit more steady than the first time. But Imani was desperate to recover some kind of dignity, to save face somehow, and so raised her still trembling hand to her brow in salute--far less crisply than she normally would have. Hackett waved her off almost nonchalantly, with a casualness that startled her a bit, and gestured for her to sit. 

Imani did so, cross-legged on the twin bed, tucking her feet beneath her for warmth, and kept her swollen eyes firmly locked on her hands. She couldn't look him in the eye even if she wanted to. The shame she felt was too palpable, the vulnerability and the weakness she felt too overwhelming. She thought she'd suffocate beneath it, and if she looked at him she would crumble all over again.

When he crossed the short distance to sit beside her, at a respectful distance, she idly noticed he wasn't wearing his dress blues for once;instead he wore just a simple t-shirt and sweats in Alliance blue, like he was a cadet on the way to the Exchange for a Tupari energy drink after a run, and not the distinguished Admiral of the Fifth Fleet. He loosely rested his elbows on his spread knees, and Imani noticed a small, white box gripped in his hand. 

"I didn't come here as your commanding officer, or to say anything on the record," Hackett said quietly.

"Why did you come here, then?" Imani asked, eyes still downcast.

"Because I know there's a human being under that invincible N7 hardsuit. I know, because I saw her on that Cerberus frigate, even though she tried her damnedest to hide. And I just wanted to see how she was holding up, because I think she's been through Hell,” Hackett replied.

The laughter that rose up unbidden from Imani's throat in response was empty and humorless. "Maybe," she said, sheepishly.

Hackett reached over and handed her the box, then. It was relatively light, but had enough heft to be noticeable when she took it into her grasp. "Your personal effects are still in storage being catalogued for evidence. But I hit up that little Pagan bookstore in the Pacific Centre and saw this," he explained to her. "I thought you might appreciate it, all things considered."

Imani wiped the damp tears from her cheeks with her fingers, then opened the paper-thin cardboard box. Then, she let out a small, involuntary gasp, her heart nearly stopping in her chest when she reverently pulled out the contents: a small statuette of the goddess Ma'at, kneeling with her great wings spread and curved upward to the heavens, penetrating eyes gazing enigmatically to one side. It was a beautiful representation of the Lady of Justice, in whose stern hands Imani found herself placed. The goddess who embodied the very principles she was sworn to uphold, not merely as an Alliance officer, but as a woman and a citizen of the galaxy she fought so hard to protect.

It was a gift that meant everything to her, because the past few days had been the first time in years that Imani had no access to the accoutrements of her faith, no representations of the Neteru to leave offerings before or contemplate in their beauty and mystery or simply take comfort in. Not even after Mindoir was she denied these things; the chaplain aboard the _Einstein_ was a Wiccan priestess dedicated to Aset, and though they did not worship in the same way, her small altar space in the crew quarters was a comfort to Imani as a shellshocked survivor nonetheless. Even at the Villa, when sleep and respite were hard to come by, her gods were with her, a set of tiny statues crammed atop a crate beside her bunk to give her strength when the grueling ICT regimen took every ounce she had.

But nothing from the _Normandy_ was allowed off the ship except her, when she turned herself in. Everything was suspect to the Alliance brass, potentially tampered with by Cerberus, planted with bugs or booby trapped. No one was taking any chances, and that meant Imani's altar stayed in her cabin. She'd spent nine days in this room without sacred space, without being able to properly conduct even the most basic rituals of offering. It didn't matter much that the small living quarters were a hell of a lot more comfortable than a brig; Imani felt lost without her gods, and without the daily rituals that gave her life structure and peace. Without them, she felt as imprisoned as if she were behind actual bars. 

Hackett knew it, too. He knew these things were important to her, even if she suspected he was like everyone else and didn't understand her spiritual beliefs, her deep-seated hunger for the sacred, or her need to have a tangible connection to it.

Imani's eyes grew wide, another lump formed in her throat, and she thought for a moment that she would start weeping uncontrollably again if she looked at him, suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude for the kindness he paid her at a time when she felt she deserved none.

He was under no obligation to get her that statue. That was the kind of request that went through low level channels at best. No…he just knew that she was suffering, that she needed comfort, and this was something he could do for her: one person to another. It was a small bit of compassion, for a broken woman who could find none within herself  _for_ herself.

Imani was touched beyond measure.

Hackett broke the silence then, and his words, quiet and soothing, almost seemed to cut right through her brooding. "I'm not a praying sort of man, Shepard, and I never really have been. But I know how much your faith means to you, and if it's worth anything at all, I don't think your gods are angry with you."

Waves of guilt came crashing back, pouring over her as she saw that empty galaxy map in her mind's eye again, and she felt as though she'd drown in them. "I didn't do enough to warn them," Imani muttered with a choked sigh. Her fingers brushed against the brass feather on the statue. Ma'at's feather, against which her heart would be measured one day. It was still too damned heavy; it felt like lead sinking within her chest even as she spoke. "I should have--"

"You did everything possible," Hackett interjected. "I know you did, because that's the kind of woman you are. Your record speaks for itself. You didn't let a single one of those Sirta researchers die on Chohe. You saved every one of the colonists of Zhu's Hope. I _know_ you, Shepard. I know you never cut corners, and I know you've never taken a life or let anyone die without good reason. Hell, it's why I've trusted you with so many sensitive missions in the first place."

"I try, sir. The gods only know, I always try to save people. I don't believe in notions of collateral damage. When lives are at stake, I always find a way. But I didn't this time. I could have done more, I should have--"

"You didn't get this far by second guessing yourself, or beating yourself up," Hackett said, cutting off her self-recriminations mid-sentence. "You got this far and you've accomplished this much by being the best of us. Not just the Alliance, but humanity as a whole. You're a damn good woman, Imani Shepard, and you don't deserve this. I need you to believe that."

"With all due respect sir, three hundred thousand civilians are dead. Whether I deserve anything or not is beside the point. I committed genocide against an entire star system," Imani argued.

"And you saved even more lives in the process,” Hackett retorted. "You said it yourself; if the Alpha Relay hadn't been destroyed, the Reapers would have invaded and we would have been sitting ducks. You bought us valuable time to prepare for the onslaught. Either way, that system would have been doomed. Given the alternative, death by supernova's got to be a far sight better than what the Reapers would have done the second they came barreling through that relay. So for god's sake--any or all of them--stop kicking yourself. You did the right thing. You always do." 

Imani glanced up at him then, just in time to see his pursed lips curl into a smile. There was an unexpected kind of tenderness in his eyes, soft and ocean blue, and it brought a kind of youth and vigor to his weathered, ruggedly handsome features that she found herself admiring, along with the old scar—Garrus may have teased her endlessly about it, but she really did have a thing for scars, and she'd always found Hackett's attractive. 

Maybe it was the strangely quiet intimacy of the night, or the rawness of her emotions--probably both--but for once she didn't bother to chide herself for the inappropriateness of thinking he was handsome, the way she always did before. There was no last second darting her eyes away that time, pretending not to stare. Instead, her eyes traced the length of the scar, down his cheek to his upper lip, which was as always framed by an immaculately trimmed silver mustache. Something about that scar lent a certain roguishness to his otherwise distinguished face, Imani thought. She often wondered how he got it, whether it was an old combat scar, or even a souvenir of a misspent youth. He ran the streets of Buenos Aires before he enlisted, as rumor had it. Imani tried to think about what he might have been like, when he was younger. Had he been just as attractive then as he was now, or was he the type that got better with age, like a fine wine?

She startled herself right out of that train of thought when she realized she was on it. Somehow it had gotten too easy...too tempting, even...to forget with whom exactly she was speaking. Maybe it was just as simple a thing as seeing him in sweats, his surprisingly muscular arms unhidden by a crisp blue jacket, and his thick, silvery grey hair out from under the ubiquitous Admiral's cap for once. But it was far too simple a thing to forget that it was pretty damned inappropriate for her to admire him that way, and that he wasn't some random silverfox she'd met at the gym, but a godsdamned Admiral, and her actual boss, to boot.

Imani forgot it all the same, though, and her heart felt a bit lighter for it, for reasons she didn't entirely understand. She felt a slow sensation of warmth creep into her cheeks, and her pulse beat a little quicker. It was a welcome distraction, at any rate, from brooding on the unthinkable by her lonesome. So she took it, despite the part of her which swore that even she, the officer who practically made a game of fraternizing, should have known better.  

"Thank you, sir," Imani said quietly, in genuine gratitude, even if she hesitated on the appellation, and even if she wasn’t exactly sure just what she was thanking him for, the encouragement or said distraction. 

It wasn’t helped by the way Hackett smiled at her, stirring a mild case of butterflies in her belly.

"You really do have more compassion than anyone I know, and you give it so easily. I've seen it over and over again. But don't you think you deserve a little of it for yourself?” he asked.

When Imani lifted her gaze to meet his again, it was just as easy to believe in his words as it was to forget that they really had no business looking at each other the way they were in that moment. And there reallywasno mistaking the way he looked at her then, his ocean blue eyes filled with tenderness, head tilted, the wrinkles between his brow etched deeper with concern. Imani could be a little oblivious sometimes when it came to picking up on subtle emotional cues like that, but there was no reading too deeply into it, in her view. It was like the way Kaidan looked at her, when the Normandy was grounded by the Council and she was at the end of her rope, and again before Ilos. It was also like the way Garrus and Thane both looked at her before the suicide mission through the Omega-4 Relay. When tensions were running high, along with a multitude of unspoken fears, and she felt lost, the ones who loved Imani looked at her that way, as though she wasn’t the strong and fearless Commander Shepard—rather, they saw her as she was beneath rank and armor…as Imani, the woman who’d spent so much of her life alone burying her grief and her pain for the good of others, the human who just needed love and support. Support they were ready and willing to give, without her even asking. 

And, if she were to be honest with herself, Hackett had looked at her that way on the Normandy too, when he came to debrief her in person, a month prior to turning herself in—another off the record conversation, and one that also flew in the face of every known Alliance protocol there was. At the time, she thought it was just due to the sensitive nature of the mission. Now? She knew better.

Truth was, he'd made a habit of that sort of thing, where she was concerned--even the day she was assigned to the original Normandy, when her then girlfriend dumped her over vid chat ten minutes before the meeting where she got the chance of a lifetime to advance her career. Hackett was there with a quiet word of reassurance, after Anderson and Udina left the conference room, encouraging Imani to get her head on straight, comforting her in ways she didn't even realize she needed, with his calm presence. Tonight was no different, and it got her to thinking.

When she did, Imani realized she wasn’t the only one laying emotions bare that night. Hackett was just being more subtle about it; at least, he had been, up until that precise moment when their eyes met and they locked gazes.

In his eyes, she saw nothing but genuine affection and a heart that was breaking for her—the heart of a man who meant every word he said, when he talked about believing in her fundamental goodness. Imani just saw a man seated beside her, not her superior, not the powerful Admiral of the Fifth Fleet who’d sent her on a clandestine black ops mission that went sideways. And the man she saw wasn’t sitting beside her out of obligation, or even merely friendship—she was sure of that. Imani wasn't so filled with self-doubt and recriminations that she failed to recognize that expression for what it was. 

When she recognized it, a thousand things, big and small, clicked in her sharp mind. So many oddities were clear to her, so many dots finally connected. So many moments were suddenly explained, with a single look.

"You've been looking out for me for years," she said at last, deliberately dropping the appellation. "Ever since you pinned that medal on my chest on Elysium, you made sure I got the opportunities I needed to advance. You looked the other way when I stole back the Normandy to hit Ilos;you let me make that call to save the Council even though it really should have been yours, as Admiral of the Fifth Fleet. When I died, you gave money to my family's temple on Mindoir--I saw the records.You held onto my tags for two years and made sure I got them back. You stonewalled every attempt to haul me in while I was working with Cerberus, and you kept the rest of the Alliance brass off my back while I fought the Collectors. Don't tell me all that was just because I'm an asset to the Alliance, because I'm an N7 and the only human Spectre. Nobody goes to those kinds of lengths, putting their ass and career on the line like that, for an 'asset'. Not even you."

Tension mounted in the air between them, with Imani's words, and it was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"What exactly do you want me to say, Shepard?" Hackett said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're a smart woman; you've got me figured out.”

“Do I?” Imani stared at him.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

"You really sure you want to go there?" Imani said. "You've got way more to lose than I do."

"Do you remember what I told you the day you got assigned to the Normandy?" Hackett asked, still holding a steady gaze. "When your girlfriend dumped you?"

She didn't have to be a drell with perfect eidetic memory to remember that conversation…which was strange, considering swallowing down personal anguish to do her job was second nature to Imani by then. There really hadn't been anything remarkable about it, except for the fact that Hackett was there comforting her in his own way. 

Just like he was now in this tiny apartment.

"Take what you can get in this line of work," Imani replied, reaching into her memory. "Yeah, I remember."

Hackett chuckled at her with the same lopsided grin she remembered from that day, when he told her to take care of herself and keep her head on straight, the first time he dropped the facade of the Admiral talking to his subordinate. But the sly mirth faded from his expression, and his brow furrowed. 

“I’m a seasoned man, and I've spent my entire life playing with fire. I don't see why I should stop now, unless you give me cause," he said. But even as he said it, even as the sparks between them turned to burning embers, he stayed his hand. It wasn't hesitation, so much as an open question lingering between them that he didn't dare ask aloud. He didn't need to though, not with his eyes doing all the talking for him as he sat back against the wall, never turning his attention from her, his breathing slow and steady, heat radiating from him in waves to warm her skin.

The air was thick with tension, and her heart was pounding in her chest, but she knew what that question was. Sheknew,and she also knew that there was no taking it back once she answered it. Once that line was crossed, there was no turning back. She didn't especially care, either--because she knew what the answer was, the moment she looked into his eyes when he smiled at her. If she were feeling a bit vulnerable, it didn't especially matter. Maybe it was even better that way, because she'd give herself permission then, in a way she wouldn't if she was still trying to play the loyal and stoic professional with him.

He'd seen her raw and exposed in all her hurt and anguish, in all of that vulnerability she tried so desperately to hide from the galaxy, and not only did it not drive him away, it only made him want to comfort her, and soothe her pain.How could there be any other answer, given that? How could she respond any other way when he smiled at her and she wanted to melt?

"Guess playing with fire's something we've got in common," Imani said, with a faint smile of her own. She gently sat the statue of Ma'at on the small nightstand beside the bed, then turned to stare at him, allowing herself to admire the quirk of his lip and the way his scar etched down his cheek. "I always did live a little dangerously."

The answer she gave at last was boldness, decisive and more than a little bit shameless, penetrating his eagerly awaiting mouth with her tongue, her fingers running through his silvery gray hair. He returned it with no less intensity, no less want. She thought she could drown in that kind of passion, that slow burn built up for years finally unleashed in a torrent. His hands were strong and steady sliding down her back, hoisting her into his lap effortlessly.

"You sure you won't regret this?" Imani said, sinking into his arms.

"I've had a lot of regrets in my life, Imani. That damn sure wasn't one of them, not after two years spent thinking I'd never see you again to get the chance," he replied. "But I don't want to pressure you, and the last thing I want is to take advantage of you."

"With all due respect, sir, do you really think anyone could?" Imani asked, smirking at him.

"Point taken. But we kissed, for god's sake. Call me Steven. I think you've earned that." There went that lopsided grin again, and the twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. "Especially the way you kiss."

She laughed, even as she was a bit awestruck, seeing this relaxed side of him. "You say that to all your subordinates?” It was a teasing tone she took, with an impish smirk.

But the grin crumbled from his face, then, and he grew a bit paler, averting his eyes from her; he shut them for a moment, taking a deep, haggard breath before gently—but firmly—shifting her off his lap. 

“Christ, what the hell am I doing?” he muttered to himself, as he got up off the bed.

Imani’s heart sank, and she clutched her suddenly cold stomach, as if she were physically trying to unclench the knot that formed in it when he pushed her away. "Please don't go,” she said, her voice cracking. 

He kept his back turned to her. “I’m sorry, Imani. I was way out of line, and you’ve been through enough. I didn’t come here to make things worse, believe me.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I kissed you, remember? It was my choice. _This_  is my choice.”

“That’s not the point,” he said. “I should know better. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, without me being a selfish old fool confusing the issue.”

“Don’t you think that’s up to me to decide? I’m a grown ass woman,” Imani said. 

Hackett let out a deep sigh, burying his face in his hand for a moment, before staring up at the ceiling. “I just want to do the right thing by you,” he said.

Imani rose to her feet without thinking, crossing the distance between them in a couple of long, bold strides, and slipped around the front of him, lifting gentle hands to his cheeks, forcing him to face her. “Then don’t walk away from me when I need you the most,” she said. “Don’t throw me a lifeline and push me away when I reach for it, and say it’s for my own good. I don’t want to go through this alone, Steven. I can’t.” 

“You won’t, Imani. I’ve got your back. I always have. But this isn’t just about what happened out in batarian space,” Hackett replied, his eyes narrowed, and he reached up to grasp her hand; his was hot, and trembling. “This was never just about that.”

“Then tell me what it is about. Tell me everything,” Imani said, her pulse racing as he squeezed her hand.

"It was a hell of a thing you did, on Elysium. I read the reports, but talking to people who were there, in the trenches...the reports didn't do it justice. Or you, for that matter," he began, and his eyes brightened when he did, lips spreading into a soft smile. "It wasn't just the way you filled out your dress blues, either. I'd never seen anyone light up a room the way you did at that reception. You had this warmth about you that just drew people in. Myself included. You made it damned hard to remember that I was your superior and had to stay professional. If I'd been younger, I might not have."

Imani laughed, lashes fluttering involuntarily as warmth rose in her cheeks; she couldn't help herself, hearing him talk about her that way. "A damn shame," she said, returning his smile. "I wouldn't have minded a little unprofessionalism."

Hackett's turned into a sheepish grin. "Hell, I didn't even know if you were into men, considering that hot little bartender you had attached to your hip."

She leaned in a bit closer, wrapping her arms about his neck. “If only you knew the thing I had for older guys. You should have asked.”

His eyes narrowed in speculation, with a hint of smolder. It made her knees quiver. “Is that right?" he asked. His hands were a bit tentative, when they drifted down to her waist, to rest on her hips, but the sensation made her pulse hammer beneath her suddenly too-hot skin.

Imani smirked, emboldened by it enough to keep teasing him. “Thane's got a teenage son. Do the math."

“Yeah, but I'm no drell. Or turian for that matter.” 

"You know, contrary to popular belief, I'm not just into aliens," Imani said with a sensual little chuckle. She leaned in closer, boldly pressing against him. “Sometimes I’m a little hungry for the familiar. Especially silverfoxes."

“What _about_ Krios and Vakarian, though? I don't want to overstep here, or make things awkward for you,” Hackett asked, his brow furrowed a bit sternly.  

"What we have is pretty unconventional," Imani explained. "I'm poly, and we're not exclusive. I told them going into this that I didn't expect them to be while I was here. I didn't want them denying themselves or suffering just because I’m on lockdown. I love them and I want them to be happy and for their needs to get met--that's the important thing. And they feel the same way about me. So don't worry about it.”

Hackett grinned. “Lucky me. Alright, Imani. We play this by ear, then. One day at a time. We'll be as discreet as possible.”

“Speaking of which…aren’t I supposed to be under twenty-four seven surveillance in here?” Imani winced. “Of course, I probably should have asked that _before_  I kissed you...and climbed into your lap…”

His expression was priceless, blue eyes twinkling with mischief, his lips pursed shut as though he were trying very hard to keep a straight face. “Oh, you are. But who do you think’s got the necessary clearance to access such a top level, classified security feed?” He lifted his hand from her waist, and nonchalantly waved his arm, revealing the dim, amber holographic glow of his omni-tool. 

Imani raised her eyebrows high in the air, and lowered her arms from his neck, pulling away a bit to watch him fiddle with the device in curiosity. “Anderson’s not one of them?” she asked.

“He is. But if he looks, all he’ll see is hours of you reading and doing yoga. There’s a trojan in the system that started scrubbing the footage from about twenty minutes before I walked in here,” Hackett said, as he idly pressed a few buttons and dismissed his device.

Well, he was slick. Imani gave him that much. “How did you—” she began, but he just laughed a little wickedly under his breath.

“Remind me to tell you about my misspent youth in Argentina some time,” Hackett said. “Those were some wild years.”

Imani giggled softly at that, thinking back on her speculations about how he got his scar. She would definitely have to press him for that story. She would have then, were it not for her curiosity about his other secrets being far stronger. “Sure. But right now, I'm more curious about the impression I left on you after the Blitz. ‘Cause I can’t imagine a couple of conversations back on Elysium were enough to lead you here, to this,” she said, leaning into him.

“What if I told you they were?” Hackett said softly. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and the heat of his bare skin against her own when it found the lightly exposed gap between her tank top and denim shorts sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. 

"Seriously?"

"Anyone would admire you after what you did there. But you do make a strong first impression, Imani. I'll be the first to admit I've had some mild infatuations before. It kind of goes with the territory at times, dealing with the best and brightest who serve. And I could always put them out of my mind before. But you were different. You were never far from my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried to bury those feelings, and keep things professional," he confessed. He shut his eyes a moment before continuing, taking a deep, somewhat pained breath, and a deep line of tension formed between his brows. "When word came in of what happened to you over Alchera...it tore me up worse than any other loss of any other soldier under my command. I got blackout drunk that night, for the first time in years. It was like someone had snuffed out the sun, and everything was cold and dark. Something shattered in me. It's a hell of a way to realize you're in love with someone; I don't recommend it."

Imani's heart nearly stopped at the word: love.

Admiral Steven Hackett, commanding officer of the Fifth Fleet, was in love with her. _He loved her._ She should have known, connecting the dots, but she didn't realize his obvious feelings for her went quite so far. She was reminded of Garrus then, listening to Hackett pour his heart out to her about how he felt when she died in the Collector attack nearly three years prior. It took her dying for the turian to realize he was in love with her too, that the infatuation he had developed for her when they were fighting Saren had deepened into something far stronger and more serious. But she never would have guessed in a million years that her loss would have the same effect on the man who'd championed her throughout her career, challenging her, and bringing out the best in her in the process. Imani thought, if anything, that it was just the fondness of a mentor. Of course, it felt different than the dynamic she had with Anderson--with her old CO, it was a kind of surrogate father/daughter bond. There was always some underlying tension with Hackett, and if she had to guess at it, maybe it was just a hint of forbidden fruit attraction at work. But even if she'd allowed herself to think about it before tonight--before that kiss--she never would have guessed in a million years that his feelings for her could have gone deeper than that.

"Steven." She reached up and gently caressed his cheek, then rested her hand there, her palm brushing against his beard--she marveled at how soft it was to the touch, faintly slick with oil. She idly stroked it, taking a great deal of pleasure in the sensation. His cheek grew warmer to the touch, and flushed as she did.

"I got your tags from some drell who claimed to work for the Shadow Broker. It cost me an arm and a leg, but I didn't want them staying in the hands of someone like that. I kept them on my nightstand all that time you were gone--they were the first thing I saw when I got up in the morning, and the last thing I saw when I went to sleep. It was all I had left of you, the only connection I ever allowed myself to have. And when I first started hearing reports that you were alive after all, after so long, I couldn't dare to let myself believe them," Hackett said.

"It couldn't have helped hearing I was working with Cerberus," Imani said, and her chest tightened a bit, when her thoughts turned briefly to Horizon, and the hot words she'd exchanged with Kaidan.

"It admittedly complicated matters. But I know the kind of woman you are, Imani. And truth be told, our hands were tied out there in the Terminus Systems. I'd been fighting to get more resources for months, but the rest of the top brass were loath to risk the Council's wrath for the sake of protecting a few anti-government cranks who resented our very existence. If they wanted so badly to fend for themselves, without Alliance oversight, then let them do it without Alliance protection. That was the unspoken policy."

"Only a fool could think the disappearances would’ve stopped at Terminus colonies," Imani said.

Hackett nodded his agreement. "It was shortsighted as hell. Anderson agreed, and tried to push back. But all Parliament could think about was Council politics, and holding onto the influence we gained with that seat at the Citadel table. So when I heard you were active out there, I knew there had to be a connection--just not the one the rest of the top brass assumed. I knew damn well you hadn't gone rogue, and that you had to have a good reason for working with Cerberus. I figured you were investigating the disappearances and looking for a way to stop them, especially when Anderson told me the Council had quietly reinstated your Spectre status. So I did what I could to protect you while you did what you had to do. I knew you'd get the job done like you always do, the way we couldn't. And I believed in you, like I always had, because you'd never given me reason to doubt you." He paused a moment, his lips quirking into an impish grin. "Even if I thought you were crazier than a shithouse rat at times."

Imani laughed in self-deprecation, the first genuine and unfettered laugh she'd had in months. It felt good, lifting her spirits out of that fog. "I like to call it 'thinking outside the box'," she said wryly.

"You're the best at it," Hackett said, the impish grin melting into an affectionate smile that made Imani's knees go weak, despite all their cybernetic enhancements. "You made my job a lot easier too, when you started feeding us Cerberus intel. Your loyalty was never in question to me, but it settled a lot of issues people had. We'd tried for years to infiltrate that organization to no avail, and you dropped a golden opportunity into our laps out of nowhere. I made sure we took it."

"All I wanted was their resources," Imani said. "They spent two years and billions of credits reviving me, not to mention constructing a new Normandy. I wasn't going to turn my nose up at that, not when colonists were in danger, and I had the chance and the tools to save them and stop whoever was behind the attacks. I'm a colony kid, Steven. I was the 'Mindoir Survivor' long before I was Commander Shepard. That could have been me or my family--may they rest. I know what it's like, living on the edge of the galactic frontier, all the danger and uncertainty that comes with that. I know what it's like to lose everything in an instant. I couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant dealing with the likes of the Illusive Man."

Steven drew her into a fierce embrace, pulling her against him tightly, and Imani clung to him, taking a world of comfort in it, in simply being held in his strong arms, and the warmth of his hard body. Gods, she was starved for this, and she'd had no idea how much until then. She pressed her nose into his neck, breathing deeply the scent of his musky cologne--earthy, and masculine. The coils of tension in her seemed to loosen when she did, even as her blood warmed in her veins and her pulse beat in her ears. Imani could have stayed like that forever, wrapped in his arms, and been completely content. 

"And you wonder why I fell so hard for you," Steven mused softly, his voice low and deep, and he squeezed her even tighter in his arms, his hands spreading flat against her back. "He was right about one thing, at least: you're the best and brightest of us all. And he got me feeling gratitude toward Cerberus of all things, for bringing you back to me. If they never do anything else right or good again, they managed that. I hate to say it, but I owe him one."

"So do I. For a lot more than I even thought before." Imani sighed, contentedly, and her broad nose nuzzled the curve of Steven's neck. There was an inexplicable rightness to how it felt, a feeling she never would have imagined, but it was there; that familiar sense of warmth that spread through her chest whenever she was near someone she cared for. Nothing else mattered to her, in the darkness and stillness of that night. That warmth guided her, always, with the stirrings of her heart. It didn’t care about rank or protocol; only the sparks between them, the strength of his arms around her, and the heat of his body calling to her like a beacon and enveloping her. Everything about it felt good and right and true, and nothing else mattered to Imani. She gave herself over to it, not caring about logic or reason.

There was a kind of peace that could be found in surrender, after all, and she needed peace perhaps more than anything. 

Imani gently tugged Steven's face down, meeting his lips with her own again, and she moaned a little against him, when his tongue slid between her teeth, to the back of her very throat, fiercely stroking her own tongue with hard caresses, catching her thick bottom lip with his teeth when he momentarily came up for air, before plunging right back into her mouth. Her body rose up against him of its own volition, awakened by the sheer passion he unleashed, and his strong hands began to wander, sliding up underneath the hem of ribbed, cotton fabric, hot and calloused palms riding up her back, massaging out the knots of tension. Then they slid back down her skin, to the small of her back, slipping into the back pockets of her tight denim shorts. His hands gripped her ass firmly through them, squeezing her cheeks hard, and it made the thick fabric rub against her crotch in just the right way to make her gasp a little.

Imani couldn't help the twinge of disappointment she felt, when his hands suddenly froze there. 

"I promise you I didn't come here for this," Steven said, his voice scarcely louder than a breathless whisper. "I didn't come here to force anything or take advantage. Tell me to stop, and I will—I'll walk away and we'll never cross this line again. But tell me you want this, and I'll do anything you want me to. Say the word, and I'll respect whatever it is."

Steven didn't so much as flinch when Imani reached down between their taut and warm bodies, groping his sizable bulge through the thick jersey fabric of his sweatpants. It was rock hard and warm, stiffening even further in her grasp, and Imani squeezed her thighs together, squirming as she imagined what it would feel like to ride it.

"If I wanted you to stop, I'd have told you to get out about twenty minutes ago," she whispered into his neck. She planted a wet kiss in its curve, hungrily sucking the warm skin there, while she fondled his cock, squeezing it lightly in her firm grip; that coaxed a ragged, low moan from deep inside his throat, and the sound sent a fresh wave of arousal throbbing between her thighs. "I want you, Steven. Don't make me beg."

He grinned at her, with a lusty little chuckle, low and dark, and let go of her--only to slowly unbutton her shorts with deft fingers, and pull the zipper down. "You shouldn't have said that, Imani. I might like to hear you try, somewhere besides my dreams," he said, as he teased the low cut band of her dark, cotton underwear with his thumbs, ghosting light touches along her dark skin. Imani shivered with delight, frustrated as she was.

"Please," Imani moaned softly into his neck, her voice thick and trembling with desire. "I need this."

"Alright," he said, and eased his hand down into her shorts. Imani gasped in pleasure when she felt his thick fingers slipping across her slick folds, and she wrapped her arms around his neck again, clinging to him for dear life as her thighs tightened around his wrist. He parted her with gentle fingers, his longest finding her swollen clit to rub it; a soft, keening cry escaped her throat at the delicious friction, little jolts of pleasure shooting through it. Around and around his fingers swirled over the slick nub, and then he slipped one inside her, stroking her hot inner flesh, fingering her with a quick and steady pace, his thumb kneading her clit as he did. Her knees buckled as her body lost itself to the rhythm of his hand. It was nimble and practiced, the way his fingers moved inside her, coaxing languid moans from her lips, muffled against his neck. Her hips rose up to meet his strokes, jerking up in desperate need of release, and he cradled her with his free arm, bracing her against it, his other hand pressed tightly into the small of her back.

"Steven," she gasped, clinging tighter to him, tension rising between her thighs with every stroke of his hand, pressure mounting, building in her clit until she thought she'd explode. 

"You ready to come for me, sweetheart?" His finger kept pumping in and out her. "Do you want more?" 

"I--" Imani's answer was caught in her throat in a choked gasp when his finger curled within, and she bit down hard on Steven's neck to stifle the keening cry that escaped her throat as she came hard against his hand, her knees shaking.

Steven lifted her chin with his free hand, and met her lips with his own, kissing her hard and deep. Imani melted into him, as he slipped his finger out at last and idly stroked her tender flesh, and she hissed at the quivering aftershocks his fingers set off with every caress of her folds. It was almost too much to bear, but it felt too good to want him to stop. And Imani had known pleasure often enough to know how her body responded to it. Beyond that hypersensitive moment a world of heightened sensation lurked. He'd only opened the floodgates to them.

"God, you're beautiful, Imani," he said, between smaller, tender kisses, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. "I could watch you do that all night and never get tired of it."

"I'll hold you to that, love," Imani said, smiling wickedly, rising up to grind against his hand, shuddering past the fading little tingles. Pleasure was already starting to build again. “‘Cause I can go all night." 

"I'd do anything for you," Steven whispered, idly rubbing her. “Tell me what you want.” 

"You. All of you," Imani said, her voice ragged with lust. She lowered her arm from his neck, and slipped her hand between them; this time, easing down between layers of elastic at his waist, inside his sweatpants and down the smooth silk of his boxers. His cock was even hotter to the touch through the much thinner fabric, and warm to the touch through the thin fabric. "Everything," she purred, stroking the shaft with her hand, rubbing the silk against it. 

Steven smiled at her, his eyes bright with hunger, and slipped his hand out of her shorts, pulling them down her long, trembling legs right along with her underwear, and she held onto him for support as she gingerly stepped out of them, stripped to the waist. Her black tank top was next to follow, yanked up over her head and flung to some corner of the room, leaving only the bra of crimson satin.

He was a seasoned hand in more ways than one, and that was something Imani appreciated about older men. It took him less than a second to reach behind her back and unhook it blind, pulling it off. Steven paused for a moment, his eyes traveling the length of her nude form, hungrily soaking in the sight of her toned muscles and soft curves.

"God, your body's incredible," he murmured with no small amount of awe. There was almost a kind of reverence in the way his hands drifted across her mahogany skin, cupping her breasts to squeeze them, teasing her nipples, fingers leaving faint, glistening trails of her own pleasure across her rippling abs. His lips echoed the trails he left, licking the slick wake, and a fresh wave of need washed over her. All she could think about was that tongue buried between her thighs.

Imani smiled at him, leading him over to the long twin bed; a reminder that this wasn't a real apartment, just the personal quarters to which she was largely confined. It didn't matter though, not with desire pulsating though her, and Steven staring at her like she was an oasis he'd found after years spent in the desert. She returned the favor, pulling his blue tee over his head to toss it on the floor, and raked her fingernails down the silvery gray nest of hair on his broad chest, kissing her way across it, catching his nipples with her teeth. He was fit as hell for a man his age, with taut and defined muscles, but Imani wasn't surprised that he kept in such good shape. Anderson often joked that the man practically lived at the gym. She followed the trail of hair down his tight abs with her tongue, as it narrowed to his waist, but when she tugged at the waist of his sweats, Steven grasped her by the wrists. 

"Not yet. I'm taking care of you, first," he said. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, gliding his knuckles along her jawline. "Tonight is for you."

Imani's face grew warm and flushed at the tenderness in his voice, and the affection in his touch. "If you insist," she breathed. Imani rose up and crawled onto the bed, retrieving the pillows from its head to prop them on the wall, then rested back against them with a coy smile, spreading her legs in blatant invitation. Steven's eyes were alight with a faintly predatory gleam that made her bite her lip in anticipation, and he leaned forward...but suddenly slid his arms under her thighs, and roughly hoisted her down to the edge of the bed. He knelt reverently in front of her there, kneading her inner thighs as he spread them open, lifting her knees to rest on each of his shoulders.  

Imani gasped a little when he lowered his head, groaning when she felt kisses ghosting along her inner thighs, nibbling them by turns but patently avoiding the soaking wet cauldron of heat between them. It was maddening the way he blatantly teased her; when he parted her nether lips it was with the same finger he'd thrust inside her a few minutes prior, but when he revealed the sensitive pink flesh within her dark folds, all he did was exhale hot breath upon it, a warm tingle enveloping her for too brief a moment, in a cruel mockery of what she craved. Again and again, he exhaled, over her clit, and Imani whimpered in frustration, wrapping her long, sinuous legsaround him,her hips writhing beneath him with a mind of their own, in a silent plea for mercy.

Then, Steven gazed up at her, eyes half-lidded and thick with raw hunger. Without breaking her gaze, he lowered his mouth against her swollen sex, and licked her up and down with a long, languid stroke of his tongue. She cried out in pleasure, all thoughts of the need for discretion obliterated in an instant, at the firm, hot pressure of his tongue. He buried his face between her thighs, and plunged his tongue inside her in a deep and lascivious kiss, his mouth suckling and caressing her lower lips. 

Imani's head rolled back and she closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the soft mattress, as she lost herself to the moist heat of Steven's eager, practiced mouth. He rolled his agile tongue against her clit over and over again, then pulled it up to flick tip of it against the slick, swollen nub at a blistering pace, unspeakable pleasure jolting through her in tingling waves. It stole her very voice, coming in panting gasps of delight, which caught in her throat when she felt that very familiar finger slide into her again, caressing her inner walls. Imani hooked her ankles against his back, squeezing her thighs around his head tighter, as she rolled her hips for leverage, working his mouth for more of that blessed heat and friction, fingers. Tension built and crested higher and higher, with each roll of her ups, grinding into the warmth of his tongue, but each time it seemed she neared the peak, he slowed his pace, and eased his strokes. Over and again he brought her close to the edge, but not over it, each time more intense than the last, until at last she cried out, her fingers clenching in his silvery hair, and a virtual supernova burst before her closed eyes, in a full body shudder. 

Steven was good.

Panting for air, she sank deeper into the mattress with liquid bones, opened her eyes, and gazed down at him through heavy lids in the hazy afterglow. The way he looked back at her nearly managed to somehow make her feel even weaker. He’d lost the easy, sensual smile by then, and the mischievous grin. Instead, he simply gazed up at her with eyes full of unadulterated worship tinged by hunger, as though she were the brightest sun and all he wanted was to bask in her warmth. There was no teasing her, like he did after her first orgasm—instead, he kissed her thighs by turns, massaging them with strong and trembling hands, and she sighed in content, sinking deeper into the mattress. Rising up off his knees, he crouched before her, working his way up her body with equally reverent hands and mouth, tracing lazy circles along her flushed skin with his tongue, kissing and kneading, sucking her nipples, caressing her. He took his time, silently worshiping her, until his face hovered over her own, hot and flushed with desire, the scent of her pleasure clinging to his beard in a slick, glistening stain.

“I love you, Imani,” he whispered huskily, with a voice half purring with desire, breathing hot and heavy against her face. Imani felt a warm glow wash over her heart at it that made it flutter, butterflies rising in her stomach. The gods only knew he didn’t have to say it; love filled his every touch, his every caress, his every kiss. He lowered his mouth to hers for another then, lips gliding smoothly over her own with the taste of her slickness upon them. Imani’s pulse quickened, stirred by the passion of his tongue sliding into her mouth, hot and eager, tinged with her salty sweetness. She wrapped her arms around him and he lifted her up off the bed, down onto his lap, and it was all she could do to cling to him, drowning in the heat of that kiss as it deepened, and he threatened to steal the very air from her lungs. Pressed so tightly against his body, she could feel him coiled with tension, his palms hot and sweating against her back, calloused fingertips digging into her muscles as the kiss deepened. The bulge between them was like a heat rock, and she slipped a hand down to rub it through his sweats. He was harder than she ever thought anyone could be, and all she wanted in that moment was to give him the release he’d given her twice over, to watch this powerful admiral lose control beneath her grasp the way she did under his. He was already trembling, arching up into her hand, moaning into her mouth. 

Finally, Steven came up for air, staring at Imani with smoldering blue eyes, and she pulled back, rolling off the bed with sinuous grace. He turned, and their positions switched, with him sitting on the edge of the bed, and her kneeling before him. With speed and precision, she was quick to pull his sneakers off, and untie the knot at his waist, loosing the band of his sweatpants, and forcefully yanked them down, boxers and all, to strip him completely bare.

Imani was enthralled by what she saw, truth be told. His thighs were as tightly muscled as the rest of his hard body—something she never would have guessed he hid, under those sleek dress blues. She ran her hands along them, massaging out the knots of tension, as she let her eyes feast on his cock. Gods, he was thick—just the way she liked them. Imani shouldn't have been surprised by how well hung he was, but getting intimately familiar with turian and drell cocks had done a lot to skew her sense of “hung”, and truthfully turned her into something of a size queen. Steven wasn't quite in her alien lovers' league, but he’d do just fine. It was enough to make her shiver with anticipation, squeezing her knees together, thinking of how it would feel deep inside.

But she wanted something else first. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Steven said softly, as she edged closer to the bed, and nudged open his legs with eager hands.

Imani smiled up at him. “I know. But I love giving almost as much as receiving. And I always did love the view from my knees.” With light, lazy touches, she grazed her fingertips in circles along his inner thighs. She suppressed the smug grin that threatened, watching him turn bright red. 

Steven’s mouth quirked at the corners. “I never imagined you’d be the submissive type.”

Imani squeezed his thighs, her eyebrows raised. “Why not?" 

“A powerful woman like you? I just assumed you’d love to take control.”

She laughed softly, a low and wicked little snicker. “Subs have all the power, Steven. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that? I thought you were _seasoned_.” Imani’s coy smile faded, though, and a sudden lump formed in her throat. “Or are you just disappointed, because my reality isn’t living up to your fantasies?”  

It wouldn’t have been the first time. People often expected Imani to act a certain way in bed—whether it was because of her statuesque height, or her Blackness, or being a decorated N7 Vanguard who took control of the battlefield with explosive biotic power, or some strange combination of the three. Imani had long since resigned herself to attracting her share of amazon chasers craving domination at her hands, because they projected these stereotype-fueled fetishes onto her. So often,too often, she’d take someone to bed and those expectations came out, along with the inevitable disappointment when they found out her desires mostly ran the other way, that being vulnerable was what turned her on. Sure, they never meant any harm by it, but it stung Imani all the same. She trembled, thinking about Steven—was he just another of those countless people that just wanted her to step on him, and make him cower? Just the idea of it wounded her deeply, making her stomach churn, and she blinked away the droplets forming at the corners of her eyes, driving them back by sheer force of will. No, he couldn’t be...

She felt firm and affectionate hands upon her cheeks then, lifting her face, and once again she was met by that warm and tender gaze. “I don’t expect anything from you other than what you want to give. My fantasies are irrelevant here. But, if it’ll make you feel better, you’ve bested pretty much all of them, and the night’s not even half over yet,” Steven said softly, his thumbs stroking her jawline, rubbing circles. He hunched down and pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead, and Imani closed her eyes, swallowing down the lump in her throat, breathing deeply, taking comfort in his warmth. It was strange how easily the fear was banished, with just a few words, and an affectionate kiss. Maybe it was the deep sense of trust they shared.

Emboldened again, Imani stroked his thighs, with slow and deliberate care, and curved her thick lips into a coy smile. “Which fantasies are left?” she asked.

Steven sprawled back on the bed, leaning to rest propped up on his elbows. “This one. I said you didn’t have to...I never said I didn’t want it,” he said, the smolder returning to his heavy-lidded gaze, as he spread his legs wider in brazen invitation. The sight of him sprawled that way, hard and yearning, sent pleasant tingles down Imani’s spine, and warmth blossoming again between her thighs. 

Far be it from her to reject that invite. 

Imani’s fingers curled around his shaft, and it twitched in her light, casual grasp; she rolled her thumb along the tip, watching him in fascination. He lounged like he was awaiting service, and Imani shivered at it. Power was intoxicating, she had to admit; there was an erotic thrill not just in the forbidden nature of what they were doing, but in the fact that she was his subordinate. 

“Is that right?” Imani asked, with a hint of a purr in her voice, smiling up at him. “You want me on my knees?” She held his smoldering gaze, returning it tenfold, as she darted her tongue onto his tip, teasing him mercilessly. It was only fair to repay him in kind, after all.

“Among other places,” he added, licking his lips at her.

“Such as?” Imani’s eyebrow quirked, and her hand began sliding up and down his cock.

“On your back, and your stomach,” he said, his abs rippling as he pumped into her grasp.

Imani’s heart was pounding, blood racing as his words fired her imagination. “Would you do it hard?” 

Steven’s eyes felt like they would burn right through her, and Imani had to bite her lip. “Is that a request, soldier?” he said, with an edge of command to his tone. It triggered fresh waves of ache in Imani, and her free hand drifted down between her legs, fingertips squeezing between her pressed thighs to massage her slick, throbbing clit. If he kept that up, she’d start having wild fantasies of her own.

“Please…sir?” Imani said, the appellation a soft, pleading moan that time. 

“Show me you deserve it.”

Steven’s breath hitched sharply in his throat, and he clamped his eyes shut hard, a languid groan rising deep from within him as she finally quit teasing him, sliding her hand to the base of his shaft to grip it, and she lowered her mouth onto his erection in earnest, her thick lips suckling the tip, easing him down inch by inch. It'd been literal years since she'd last had a human cock in her mouth, and rather unsurprisingly, it'd lost none of its appeal despite the more exotic delights she'd enjoyed since then. Her curled her tongue around his thick shaft, rubbing hard with each stroke of her lips. Up and down she went, taking him deep into her throat and back again, hot and hungry, sucking him off with a steady pace. 

She felt one of Steven’s hands slide into her red curls, idly massaging her scalp, and each of his languid, debauched moans made her wetter and wetter, soaking the fingers that toyed with herself while she devoured him with ease. It only goaded her on, hearing his breath grow ragged by the moment, as she milked his cock with deft lips and tongue. After several blissful moments of pleasuring him with abandon, Imani felt his thighs tense up beneath her hands.

"Imani--" he gasped, and he suddenly lurched back, gently but firmly guiding her mouth away from him.

"Steven?" she murmured in confusion.

"Come here, love," he said. He stroked her curls one last time, and rested back against the pile of pillows propped up on the wall, beckoning to her. “I’ve got a ring in my pocket.”

Imani didn't need to be told twice. She reached over to dig inside the pocket of his crumpled sweats beside her, and retrieved a titanium ring of sleek gunmetal gray, then climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. It’d been a long time since Imani used one of the devices; she didn’t need them with Garrus and Thane, given the differences in their biology, and her cybernetic enhancements. But Steven was another story, and neither of them could afford to make this illicit tryst any riskier than it inherently was. So Imani slid the ring slowly down the length of his shaft, until it nestled at the base. A flick of her finger on a tiny holo button secured it snuggly in place, and there was a brief telltale shimmer of kinetic energy that flared up around him for a brief second.

But then Steven smirked, and grabbed her finger, sliding it around the polished metal until it hit another holo button, and made her press it. Another low hum emitted from it, but it was a steady sound, and the metal started to buzz against her fingers. Gods, it vibrated. Imani bit her lip, practically salivating at the implication. She supposed he could afford one of those high end models, on the salary he pulled in as an Admiral. His hand wrapped around hers, caressing it briefly, and together they guided his blunt tip to her entrance, and she eased down onto his cock. Imani gasped at the sensation, being stretched and filled like she hadn’t in weeks, when Steven sheathed himself in her to the hilt, and she felt the vibrations of his barrier ring pulsing inside her. Imani rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning down against him in a display of her famous flexibility. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth, and he met her rhythm, that hard heat penetrating her deeper and deeper with each roll of his hips, the vibrations adding an incredible pulse at the end of each stroke. He pushed her down lower, and squeezed her breasts, bringing each to his mouth by turns to suck her nipples hard as he grinded deep into her. The competing sensations were overwhelming, and Imani closed her eyes for a long moment, giving herself over to that feeling of intense pleasure, at lips and teeth on her nipples, and his deep strokes inside her.

His strong hands, firm and warm, slid down her sides, resting on the wide curve of her hips to hold them in a vice grip as he thrust up harder inside her. They were languid strokes, slow and hard, just like she begged for when she went down on him. When Imani opened her eyes to gaze at him, the sight was incredible: Steven's head thrown back onto the pillows, his mouth parted, eyes heavy-lidded and clouded over by lust, pale skin flushed and drenched with sweat. The cool and smooth tenor that had given her missions and debriefed her over comm so many times was ragged and broken, gasping and grunting with every sharp, upward thrust of his hips. 

This powerful man was utterly, completely lost to pleasure, toher.Imani was the woman he'd loved and lusted for by turns, a secret buried deep inside his soul. The woman for which he risked losing a storied and decorated career spanning decades. Imani made him reckless enough to hack his own security systems, and sneak into the apartment she was confined to under house arrest in the dead of night. He would give up everything just to kiss her, to hold her, to taste her until she came, to be inside her like this, fucking her, because she was all that mattered to him. That was what Imani meant to him, and she saw it all over his warm, hard body as it trembled beneath her. She saw it in those heavy lidded eyes, in the teeth chewing his lower lip to stifle his low, rumbling moans of ecstasy as he pierced her deep with his hard, thick cock over and over again. He would throw everything away for a single night with her, and not even care.

It goaded her desire more than anything else, igniting burning passion within her like a spark to tinder. Imani spread her hands on his chest, pressing down hard, and rode his cock with abandon. She gyrated her hips in sinuous circles, taking him in deep with every stroke, taking everything he gave her and returning it with that fire that smoldered in her. His hands curved around her thighs to her ass, squeezing it in a vice grip for more leverage as he jerked into her, and Imani's fevered mind was suddenly seized by scandalous thoughts of him pinning her face down on the bed.

She gasped in an octave she didn't even know she was capable of, seeing stars before her eyes as a wave of ecstasy washed over her entire body; she wavered, her entire body trembling. Steven sat up without breaking his rhythm, holding her ass in a vice grip with one hand while the other braced her back, but he kept jerking his hips wildly against her, and his cock plunged into her again and again without slowing. Imani clung to him, moaning as his mouth came down on her neck, sucking and nipping it with his teeth. In the end, he moaned against her shoulder, a long blissful groan as he thrust a final time, his entire body shuddering against her, and she felt a slight, fluttering sensation against her tender entrance when his ring's kinetic barrier kicked in.

"I love you," he said, once he caught his breath, for the second time that night, and somehow even sweeter than the first. He held her close against his sweat-soaked skin, his cheek nestled in her warm cleavage, resting against her heart. If it wasn't evident before, it certainly was then, in the way he clung to her like she was a lifeline. "Tell me I'm not dreaming this." 

Maybe it was the glowing aftermath of the pleasure they shared, and the fierce intimacy of the moment, with him resting spent inside her, but Imani thought she might feel the same. There was something so beautiful about him, seeing him this vulnerable, naked and content in her arms. It hadn't been about sex to her, not really--though it was good, as good as she'd ever had, especially after so long going without. Imani wasn't kidding herself. But simply being with him was a comfort--this strange bond they had, as wildly inappropriate as it was? She wanted it to deepen, and not just because she was lonely and hurting. Steven had always been a light in the darkness, beckoning to her with a calm and soothing voice over comm, guiding her when she was lost. She stroked the back of his damp, disheveled hair smooth.

"You're not," Imani answered with a smile, and kissed the top of his head. "Neither am I."

Steven squeezed her tightly, nuzzling her neck. "I know we haven't got a lot of time, but..." 

"What is it?"

"Let me stay with you a while,” he said, wrapping an errant crimson curl around his finger, before tucking it behind her ear. "I don't want to just fuck you and leave. It isn't right, and I didn't come here for that."

Steven pulled her down with him, and Imani wanted to stifle a laugh at how awkward it was for two grown adults hovering around six feet tall to lay down together on a twin bed. She was reminded of too many hushed, secret rendezvous in close quarters as a young cadet, crammed into barracks and tight crew quarters on various ships. At least on the SR-2, she had an asari queen—maybe Miranda dug a little too deeply into Imani's personal files, during her Lazarus Project studies, and figured a human-sized king wouldn't be big enough for her escapades. Imani had gotten a bit spoiled by the spacious room, and a twin was a huge step down—probably the worst part of Imani's confinement from a comfort standpoint, even when she was alone in it.

Still, they managed to make it work, laying on their sides with their bare and sweat-drenched limbs tangling entwined together.They held one another for as long as they dared, in the silence of night. Imani feared she would drift off, relaxed and content as she was in Steven’s arms. She tried to ignore the rapidly fading darkness outside the solitary window high up on the wall, counting down until their blissful repose was over. In the end, though, she couldn’t.

"We have to--it's nearly dawn, Steven," she said, her words catching in her throat.

The dream had to end, sometime.

"I know,” he sighed. “I know. I just wish--"

Imani placed a finger upon his lips. "So do I,” she whispered.

Steven sighed deeply, and untangled himself from her, rolling off the cramped bed and onto his feet. “Mind if I use your shower?” he asked, as though he was an ordinary gentleman caller at his lover’s place, after he’d stayed the night. Strange as it seemed, that’s what it felt like to her, despite everything.

Imani nodded her assent, and watched him cross the room to a plain sliding door, where the tiny bathroom was. It took every ounce of discipline in her not to follow him in there, but there was no time. The sun would be rising soon, and they’d once again have to be Admiral Hackett, the storied leader of the Fifth Fleet, and the disgraced Commander Shepard, accused terrorist under house arrest. They _weren’t_  Steven and Imani, just an ordinary pair of lovers who’d spent the night together, no matter how it felt. She had to remember that.

She didn’t want to.

What a weird night, she thought to herself with a defeated sigh. It was to the muffled sounds of briskly running water that she retrieved her discarded clothes, folding them neatly into the laundry bin in the corner, and pulled on her sleepwear—a black silk chemise that had been a parting gift from Thane. She hadn’t worn it since turning herself into Alliance custody; like all her clothing, it had been checked extensively for bugs and tracking devices, and she’d only just gotten it back a week prior. She understood why they did it, but it bristled her nonetheless, that even something so personal as the lingerie her boyfriend gave her was subject to their scrutiny. 

Steven’s eyes went wide when he exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Jesus, Imani, you’re really not helping this having-to-leave-you situation,” he said, chuckling a bit ruefully.

Imani snickered softly, even as she felt herself blushing, heat and the faintest hint of red rising up into her mahogany cheeks again. She knew she looked good in it, but it really wasn’t her intent to fluster him—much. She twirled around slowly, holding her arms out, and the tiny breeze it kicked up lifted the light and airy fabric to spin with her, revealing nothing beneath. “Like what you see?” she teased him.

“Yeah. A little too much,” Steven said, pulling her into another embrace. She felt him stirring against her again, beneath the damp towel between them.

“You want one last taste for the road, old man? Or do you need one of those little blue pills?” Imani asked, grinning.

“One good fuck and now you’re getting clever with me,” Steven said with a smirk, and swatted her bare ass with a loud smack; a soft, involuntary gasp escaped her lips when he did, and she watched his eyes grow curious for a minute, as if he were filing something away in his mind. He didn’t say anything else, though, just squeezing her tightly in his grasp.

“I could always occupy my mouth elsewhere,” Imani said, as her grin grew wider.

“Well, I reckon—” 

Imani didn’t wait for him to finish his banter. With lightning speed, and the force of her cybernetically enhanced strength behind her, she shoved him back against the wall, ripping his towel away, and kissed her way down his body, slowly sinking to her knees. When Imani drew him into her eager mouth again, it wasn’t like the first time, when it was sensual; this was fevered, a bit frantic, with no time for teasing. Just raw, urgent desire driving them both on, one last desperate grasp for the stars before the night was over. One last grasp at the impossible, before reality came crashing back down. She felt his hands running through her disheveled curls, guiding her head up and down, and she felt his fingers tightening in her hair, seizing it in a vice grip. 

It didn’t take long, not the way Imani sucked him down fast and deep, her mouth craving what he denied her the first time. He stiffened against the wall, his knees buckling, and with a final, low grunt he was pulled over the edge, shooting into the back of her mouth. Imani pulled away and swallowed it, savoring the taste of his pleasure on her stained lips, licking them clean before she pressed kisses into his thighs.

 

He reached down to help her to her feet again, and smiled. “I haven’t had a night like this in a long time,” he said, a little winded.

“Neither have I,” Imani said, leaning into him. “Thanks for it. I…needed this. More than I realized.”

It was with great reluctance that he pushed off the wall; Imani helped him gather up his clothes. He sat on the bed, pullinghis sweatpants back on. “There’s more where that came from, if it’s what you want,” he said. “I don’t just mean the sex, either. This was about more than that to me, fun as it was.”

“Same here.”

Imani smiled at him a bit wistfully, watching him rise from the bed a final time, fully clothed again. It was still felt a little surreal; even after everything that transpired between them, that seismic shift in their relationship was a bit hard for her to grasp. She was sure she’d wake up in a few hours, wondering if it were real. But now, in the moment, standing before him and gazing up into his eyes, it was tangible—she’d never be able to look at him the same way again, without the memory of his hot breath against her skin, his soft cries of pleasure in her ears, the strength of his arms around her. Even now, she felt the echo of him inside her.

She’d never forget that. Nothing would be the same anymore. She didn’t feel any kind of trepidation about that, though, despite the precariousness of the situation. Instead, Imani found a strange kind of peace in it, with the threshold finally crossed. Discretion was paramount; he didn’t have to tell her how dangerous this was. Imani accepted the risks, just as she always did. She was an N7 Vanguard, after all; their designation's motto was “fortune favors the bold”.

If you went in with your eyes open, the rewards were always worth it, in the end.

"I'll see you when I can," Steven vowed, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly, his steely gaze full of conviction. "And I'll always stay in touch, even when I can't see you. If you need to reach me, use my secure personal channel--the one we used when you were with Cerberus. I'm the only one with access. Do it any time you need me, I don't care if it's three in the morning. I've got your back, Imani, and I won't let you go through this alone. You don't have to play the stoic Commander Shepard made out of teflon to me. You never did, but especially not now. I want to be your comfort and support, however I can. Whatever I can do to see you through this, you name it, and I'll come running. You have my word on that. Alright?"

He took her into his arms one last time, and lifted her chin for a fiercely tender kiss.

That vow meant more to her than she could find words to express, even more than the kiss that left her breathless and yearning when he pulled away. It quieted the most fearful prospect to her, of all of this--the idea that she'd have to face the darkest time of her life since Mindoir without the love of her partners, alone in this tiny apartment with her pain and regret, under the tightest scrutiny, possibly losing everything again.

Sure, Anderson did what he could, and she appreciated it deeply, but it wasn't the same. She was still trying to make him proud, the man who'd become like a father to her, to prove the unshakable faith in her that he'd had since the day they met in the sweltering jungle in Macapá wasn't misplaced. Imani felt she had to be strong in his presence. With Garrus and Thane, she could let herself be vulnerable in ways she couldn't with anyone else. And Anderson had cut them off from her, for the good of all three. Imani understood the logic in it, even if it wounded her beyond description. 

It wasn’t that Steven could replace either of them--no one could, and Imani would never try. But Steven Hackett offered his own kind of sanctuary, shining that light in the darkness again. Could she blame herself for reaching to it, drawing warmth and comfort from it? The human heart didn't especially give a damn about man-made rules and regulations, or the chain of command. Neither did she, if she were honest with herself. Imani always followed her heart, regs be damned. Even when it led to her heart breaking, like with Kaidan. 

Life was just too short, too uncertain, not to accept love that was freely offered, and return it with gratitude. Especially not in such a painful and difficult time--that's when it was needed most. Imani knew that better than anyone.

"Thank you, Steven," she said, tracing her thumbs along the stubble of his jawline, taking in every inch of his flushed and handsome face with eyes full of wonder. As she did, she silently added thanks to Hathor and Bastet, for this night she shared with him, and the reminder of their blessings. He was right, the Neteru weren't angry with her. And they were with her, too. Always.

"Get some rest. I'll talk to you in the morning," Steven said.

Imani returned his parting smile with a radiant one of her own, feeling better than she had in weeks, and not only because she was sated after being wrung limp for every ounce of pleasure. It was love, too, that healed what was broken in her when she was forced to do the unthinkable to protect the galaxy she swore to defend.

It would take time, of course; a wound that deep wasn't fixed up over the course of a few hours no matter how blissful. Love wasn't exactly like medi-gel. But it was a start. One night was just the beginning. She'd carry on, and make it through. Love was what made Imani strong, more than her powerful biotics, or her shotguns, or even her indomitable will: the love she had for this galaxy, even with all its danger. Love for the ordinary people who dwelled in it, for her comrades in Alliance blue and Cerberus orange alike, for the crew and the countless lives she'd saved.

Steven reminded her that night, what love could do.

He reminded her that the night wasn't always so terrible, after all, with the promise he'd be waiting for her in the light of dawn.


End file.
